The King in Ink
by TokenKneecaps
Summary: In which Mickey goes missing, various neuorses crack the surface, and there are more questions than answers.
1. Hear! Hear!

_A/N: This is an on-going story, as far as I can tell. I got the title from the Robert Chamber's book 'The King in Yellow',  
a good book with a creepy feel to it (a book which inspired the famous H.P. Lovecraft).  
Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Goofy, and others are copyright Disney, thank you very much._

**The King in Ink  
**(By TokenKneecaps)

"oooooh!!! Of all the horrible, rotten things you could do Mickey!"

He followed her out of the kitchen into the party, "Calm down Min, it was only a teensy bit of money…"

She whirled full-circle to his face, "Only a teensy…? I'll have you know that 'teensy bit of money' was my _grandmother's _which she gave to me on her death bed! So if you think…" She turned her head, disdaining his little 'I'm-on-my-knees-begging-here' routine. "Try what you may, that won't take away the fact that you _stole_ from _my_ dead grandmother! Hmf!"

He dusted his knees and wrapped around her shoulders.

"You know," he joked, "she won't really need it where she's going…"

She shoved him away. She glared, hoping with all her will that her eyes would strangle him.

Guess it was a bad time for comedy.

She slapped him. He rubbed the impact mark, standing like a guy in the midst of a stroke.

"Like I need this…" he stomped out of the room. The door slammed as if saying to the party, 'an emasculated Mickey Mouse has left the building'.

Fortunately the party was too drunk or indifferent to hear.

"Dum dee dum dumm dummm…" Goofy was humming to himself, looking very suspect with his pants slacked near a potted plant.

"Goofy! What in hell are you doing?!"

Instead of the expected shock or embarrassment he scowled at the duck, "Can't a guy get privacy while he's doing his business?"

"You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"Nope, I'm dry as a whistle."

"Then why…?"

"Oh dontcha know?" he continued in obscene nonchalance as he emptied, "This is the proper way to do it at parties. What are ya, raised in a zoo?"

The duck face palmed himself, grumbling, "Fuggawugganagga…"

"Donald? Donald? Doanld!" Daisy seized his arm, "Donald can't you envy Goofy some other time? I need you to listen to my problems…"

"I'll come with…" Goofy struggled with the zipper, "…as soon as I remember how this thing works…"

Daisy crouched on the sofa. She was ready to tell Donald all her worries, cares, trifles: everything. Donald couldn't have cared less. How these two came together (besides the both of them being ducks) was a mystery even Ludwig von Drake couldn't solve.

She elucidated, "Did you see what happened to Minnie? Oh the nerve of that rat! If you ever tried pulling that on me, you wouldn't be able to walk…You wouldn't try that on me, would you? You love me right? Tell me you love me, Donald. Tell me you worship my every movement. Tell me you'll buy everything I want. Because if you want out relationship to stay happy, you'll have to completely spoil me. It's not like bla bla blah…"

Donald Duck, besides the occasional 'uh huh', wasn't in the conversation. In fact Donald Duck wasn't really there. He may as well been in the Himalayas at that point, because his mind was floating. Scenes played over and over, like a newsreel. Sound-bites of gunfire. Snapshots of twisted blackened support beams. It was a war. But the thing is, Donald had never been in a war. The closest he ever come to any action was a broom fight while on shore leave in Brazil. Like a highway overpass, these memories were a monument to a hidden (and terrible) destiny…

Minnie spent the rest of the party sniffling on her expensive armchair. A baritone yet slimy voice drawled, "Aw did Mickey-wickey hurt liddle Minnie-poo?"

She looked up at the body attached to the voice. Pete leered mockingly, dressed in a gaudy fur coat (a conundrum in itself as he had natural fur).

"I'd rather not speak with ilk like you right now," she frowned in contempt.

He sleazed his way into the chair, "Oh I think you do." With little hesitation he heaved a coarse hand down her back, "_I think you do_."

"Do I need to spell it out? Me and you are finished."

"Since oh how long? Two months ago?"

She pushed him away. Pete staggered, a little ruffled but not discouraged. "I think it's time you and me ditched the rat and hightail it outta here."

Some girls will take it to any level, but Minnie knew when to stop. She pointed to the door, "GET. OUT."

"Not before I get a goodbye kiss…" He wrenched her face towards his. Across the side of her face his tongue crawled like a worm out of an eye socket. Saliva dripped across her cheeks. It wasn't a kiss but a customer sampling merchandise.

"Ta-at _toots_!" he cackled. It was the wheezy laugh of a plague monkey, full of mockery and malice.

With all the commotion they made someone should've seen them, but no. In fact only Daisy saw poor disgusted Minnie shaking in the corner. Daisy, being the caring friend she is, resumed griping to a increasingly aloof Donald.

"Did you see what happened to Minnie? That's what I mean when I say marriage is commitment, Donald. You have to be prepared to be committed to me. And that means everyday I blah blah blah crap crap blah blah…"

Daisy had been too enraptured in her own voice to notice Donald staring at the smoldering cigarette, which he miraculously produced out of his nonexistent pockets.

Goofy was coming to terms with his rebellious zipper. After a half hour he came out victorious, hyucking to himself.

Daisy blabbed.

Donald stared.

Goofy hyucked.

They were the life of the party.

"Ghost exterminators…" he chuckled.

The phrase was so outrageous, so out there that it unsettled Donald out of his reverie. He ogled the dog-man critically, "What…?"

"Do you remember our gig as ghost exterminators?"

Donald nodded, "Oh yeah…what a big waste of money."

"But it sure was fun, ain't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. What about it?"

He dragged Donald within arm's reach, whispering, "You know that job we pulled in Connecticut?"

"Uh huh"

"Shhh!" He wheeled towards Daisy, who was still rattling on with little awareness of Donald or Goofy. He spoke again in murmurs, "Well I was just siftin' through stuff cause I was, you know, bored…"

"And…?"

"…well I was siftin' and I found this _book_…"

"What about it?"

Goofy looked over his shoulder expecting a ghost to tickle his ribs, "…I found this book and you know what it was called?"

"What?"

He gulped. He was really starting to get nervous, "…'_The King in Ink'_, it was called 'The King in Ink'. I didn't even read it, but you know what? I opened it, just to peak…and these _goosebumps_ goes crawlin up my spine like something was…" he looked again, "…was _watchin_' me. Gawrsh, I put it down and when straight outta the house. It was the scariest thing in my life!"

"What does that have to do anything?"

"You ever read the graffiti? I sometimes do. Well I was just leavin' home and what do I see?"

"What?"

"These big black letters: KING INK."

"So?"

"So?! What if someone read that spooky book I saw? Oh gawrsh, what if they're usin' it to scare me?"

Had Mickey listened to his story, he would at least pretended to feel Goofy's dread. But this was Donald. He simply gaped at Goofy dumbstruck and said, "Consarn it, keep your screwy ideas to yourself quaggaflaggawagga…"

He went back to the cigarette and its spiraling smoke.

In spite of the earlier emotional melodramas, many would've called it 'a rad party'. It would've been 'rad' were it not for the shriek of mangling steel. Everyone who was anyone ran to the windows. After all, everyone wants to be a witness. Outside a red Impala lay smashed with two police vans in an orgy of tangled pipes, torn doors, and bits of glass. Outside officers led a handcuffed Mickey into a police car. He seemed strangely chipper.

"Mickey! What did you do?!" Minnie shouted.

He giggled, "Don't worry honey! It's nothing big, only possession of illegal firearms! Don't worry, everything's gonna be okay! Merry Christmases I love you!"

"Of all the rotten things I can't believe…" she rushed out of the room crying. Minnie always had a habit of seeing the worst in Mickey, no matter how chipper his mood.

Out of the police window he called, "Hey Donald!"

"What?"

"Find the map! And before I go, remember: there are no presents in the future! Santa told me so!"

The guests began to lose interest and leave. No doubt tomorrow they would call the party 'a quaint affair'.

Goofy scratched his head, "What d'ya think he meant by that?"

"Beats me. Probably the most sensible thing of this whole night…" Donald took a drag. As he looked at the twirling smoke he couldn't help but think of Fokker Triplanes decked out in Christmas wreaths. Only four remained in the house.

Minnie cried.

Daisy blabbed.

Donald stared.

Goofy hyucked.

**End of Chapter One**


	2. The Obscene Telephone

_All characters belong to Disney._

**The King in Ink**

His eyeball squeezed through the shutters and frantically jammed right back inside. Donald quacked a breath of relief. He slunk next to Goofy, agitatedly biting the fingers of his glove. Both their clothes were almost soaked. Yet whether the clothes' stench was of sweat or fear, they couldn't say.

Every possible exit and entrance was boarded with crude planks. Every piece of junk not nailed to the floor was shoved in half-hazard crates. The entire room had the impression of a ancient mausoleum stripped of its treasures. Had Donald and Goofy not been here two weeks earlier, they wouldn't have guessed it was the room of Mickey's party. Donald thought back to the party. It was there they last saw tail or ears of Mickey.

He lit another cigarette as he started, "All right let's go over it again. What happened to Mickey the last time we saw him?"

"Um hold on…" Goofy began tapping his head in an attempt to find the answer, "…dum…doh… oh, I know! He was takin' a ride with the police!"

"Right, except for one problem: the police never even heard of a Mickey. In fact no one anywhere has seen ears or tails of him!"

"So why are we hidin' in his house? Are we playin' hide and seek?"

The duck calmly walked to his friend, pulled him gently by the ear, and hollered, "No you dunce! Mickey's gone! You know what that means? Everybody we ever double-crossed is coming through the woodworks. We're dead! DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!"

Goofy shook his head. It wouldn't stop shaking for Donald said exactly (well almost) what he was thinking. Goofy knew him, Donald, and Goofy made a number foes during their exploits. Yet none of those creeps would dare lay a finger on them considering Mickey's reputation as a scrapper. Having the mouse around was like having a lucky charm. Now Mickey disappeared, leaving both of them alone with Donald was right. They were dead. They were more than dead.

"Aw gawrsh," he moaned, "you're right. We're doomed. Now those 'ink' pranksters are gonna to teepee my house for sure…"

"Aw shut up." Donald massaged his temples. All night his brain had been throbbing, throbbing. All night his head flooded with memories that weren't his. Rat-tat-tat of ancient gunfire, Christmas warplanes, an assembly line, a highway overpass, they were all fragments of a picture. As to how they fit, he could not tell. He might as well build a computer out of a pickle. His brain throbbed, throbbed, throbbed.

Ring.

The two jolted from their seats.

Ring-a-ling-ring-ring.

The ringing came from one of the boxes.

"Well aren't you gonna answer it?" asked Goofy.

"No way!" Donald pulled his collar and gulped, "They couldn't-it can't be for us…"

Goofy lifted his nose in contempt, "If you don't have the manners to answer it, then I will…"

He tumbled through the ringing crate. Donald rushed to stop him, but it was too late.

"Hello? Oh Donald," he pushed the phone into the duck's bill, "it's for you."

Donald cleared his throat nervously, "Hello…?"

"Is this Donald Duck?" a crackling, obscene voice snarled. The voice was so loud that Donald almost felt spit through the receiver.

"Um, no?"

"Yes you're Donald, I'd know that squeaker-toy voice anywhere. Listen pal, we know where you and the dog are hidin' out and if you don't give us the mouse we're gonna come over there and fluff you like the pillow you are!"

"Squeaker-toy? Pillow?!" the duck's emotional thermostat began heating up, "I'll show you, you skuzzy pimple! I'll quaggafwaggawagga…!!!" His coherence dissolved into a flurry of enraged quacking. He slammed the phone into several chunks. Goofy wrapped his arms around the spewing feather ball.

Donald fell over, breathing heavily.

"So what they'd say?" asked Goofy.

"We're dead…dead…"

Right on cue the crunch of a van pulls up on the driveway. They peeked through the shutters. They could see on the terrace an orange van. From the van came several dogs in prison garb, berets, and masks. It was none other than the Beagle Boys. For a kidnapping/robbery/home invasion ring they sure had nasty streak. One Beagle Boy stood on guard with a machine gun.

"Boy," remarked Goofy, "They're sure fast…"

"We gotta get out of here!" He leapt to the planks. No matter how hard he clawed them, they stayed nailed to the doors. They were trapped inside the room. He looked towards the window. It was their only choice.

"Let me on your back!"

Goofy raised an eyebrow, "This isn't really a time for leap frog-yahoohooweee!!!"

Bits of glass flying around them, Goofy landed with a noticeable crunch. "My leg feels kinda funny…"

"Go! Go!" Donald waved onward. On the last 'go' five machine-guns materialized along with the Beagle Boys holding them.

"All right you two," one growled, "We're taking a ride, see? And you'll tell us what we wanna know. 'Cos if you don't…" He released the gun's safety.

The Boys corralled Donald and Goofy into the van, with Donald showing more resistance and fists. They drove away silently into the city.

Goofy aimed at starting a conversation, "So how d'ya tell each other apart?"

"We don't have names," a stocky Beagle Boy replied.

Donald scoffed, "So you're all named Beagle Boys. What a joke! Hahahaha-"

The same Boy cocked the gun into his forehead, "Keep your mouth zipped."

Everyone in the vehicle obeyed his demands. That is, until Goofy elbowed the duck in the ribs, "Psst! Donald! Look!"

He turned to the direction Goofy pointed. Nearly every other block, on every other street there written on the walls in sloppy black letters was the word KING INK.

"Gawrsh, these kids are really tryin' to give me a breakdown…"

"You're giving me a breakdown…" Donald muttered.

Suddenly the brakes slammed. The Beagle Boys hustled them out the car. Both were pushed to their knees, guns aimed at their heads.

"I'll give you one chance," one Boy told them, "Tell me: where's the mouse?"

"I don't know!" Donald cried out.

The head Boy drove them to their legs. He motioned to the north, "WALK!"

Guns prodded them to the ledge. Donald looked downwards. He saw hundreds of feet of concrete pillars below. He realized what he was seeing. It was a highway overpass, the same from those memories.

"Let's get this over with," the Boys held their guns at ready.

All chances were in favor of Goofy and Donald falling five-hundred feet and bullet-ridden until Goofy tripped. Through some fluke of nature the dog slipped on a patch of ground, causing his foot to dislodge on gun. The weapon crashed to the ground, firing wildly. The sudden open fire led to a frenzied exchange between the Beagle Boys. Soon the bullets cleared and the Boys rose slowly. By that same fluke all the Boys were alive.

However dumb luck can only go so far, as Donald and Goofy began to understand. The duck dragged the limping Goofy along. They skidded to a halt in front of a peculiar sight.

Brooms. Hundreds of brooms marching in even columns. Without even a pause, the brooms sifted past Donald and Goofy.

Out of ammo the Beagle Boys had no chance to stop the onslaught of cleaning utensils. Dumb luck can only go so far and the Beagle Boys' ran out.

Watching the criminals struggle under the brooms' fists Donald pulled a desperate stunt. He took Goofy and flung themselves off the overpass. Below a ship cruised by. It would be on a slight margin they would make it. As they hurdled downward, Donald glanced towards the overpass. Something told him he would see it again.

He hit the boat. Pain vibrated up his legs. When sleep came over his eyes, he swore he heard someone say, "_There's no more presents in the futur_e"

**End of Chapter Two**


End file.
